


Cards on the Table

by AsexualDerek (Cammerel)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Amputation, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Come Swallowing, Come as Lube, Domestic, FBI Agent Stiles Stilinski, Father/Son Incest, Gag reflex, Incest, M/M, Marking, Nipple Play, Nipple Torture, Nursing, Nursing Kink, Or rather former FBI Agent Stiles, Parent/Child Incest, Prosthesis, Rough Sex, Roughness, Scars, Sheriff Stilinski & Stiles Stilinski Feels, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Skull Fucking, Stilinski Family Feels, cock nursing, nipple sucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 19:27:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3861934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cammerel/pseuds/AsexualDerek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles comes home to his dad after being honorably discharged from the FBI. He's less than he was, but maybe that's not so bad. (This is a Stilinski-cest fic, don't like? don't read)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cards on the Table

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write this short fer a rly long time. And now that I'm at 99 werks, I figured I wanted a Stilinski-cest fic to be my 100th piece of werk here on AO3. Hope you like.

Stiles sets his bags down by the door, looking around the front room of the house with a somber, pensive expression, a deep longing forming in his gut for the oblivious childhood he remembers from his surroundings. It's been... **literally** , years since he was here last. Even the holidays had gotten swallowed up by his obsession with the work from the bureau (not that he didn’t let it), his constant tendency to call things off at the last minute, no matter how badly he missed his dad.

Coming back from the FBI leaves a cold tenseness in his shoulders, right between them, but it can't be helped. He has to remind himself that it's not something that’s within his control, that it's just some freak accident and-really no, **really** , it could’ve happened to anyone.

The dull pull of his left leg is a constant reminder of why he’s back in Beacon Hills, even when he's standing perfectly still like he is now. It’s a reminder of the trauma, the failure, the disappointment. He’s never felt so ashamed of himself (and that’s saying something, because boy does he have a list of fuck-ups; this still tops them all).

He’d left Beacon Hills with such high hopes, his dad’s prideful wave goodbye, his best friend wishing him well. And now, just shy of six years, he’s already back here. Sure, his dad would welcome him with open arms, but that was just unconditional love. Stiles isn’t prepared to see the disappointment in his eyes.

Really, he isn’t prepared for any of it. He isn’t prepared to be around his dad (for some obvious reasons, some **not** so obvious), he isn’t prepared to be alone, he isn’t prepared to be _home_. Even though he spent the last seven months talking himself into this, and he knows protocol well enough to be left to his own devices, he’s still not ready.

Stiles has looked death in the eyes more times than he can count, he’s shot and killed a man, he’s faced werewolves and banshees, various (numerous) supernatural creatures, but none of that even compares to hearing the sigh that’ll inevitably fall out of his dad’s mouth when he comes home later tonight - when he realizes that his son is a failure.

Stiles swallows sickly and stares at the looming stairs just ahead of him. If he doesn’t move his bags now, either he’ll have to wait for his dad to do it, or embarrass himself in front of his old man by trying to do it himself. It’s probably better just to get it out of the way while he’s alone, and can’t be seen.

He drags the bags inside first before closing and locking the door. Then he slowly moves them to the foot of the stairs. Getting them up is painstakingly slow and every movement causes a familiar twinge in his leg. It’s like adding insult to injury, really.

When he finally has everything upstairs and in his room, a pool of sweat in each of his pits, his hair soaked from the exertion - he finally just collapses on the bed and starts crying. Because, really, what else can he do right now? It’s probably for the best that he gets it all out before his dad comes home. Chances are the old sheriff will be able to tell if he arrives sooner, rather than later.

Stiles barely gets around to unpacking when he hears the cruiser pull up, the soft jangle of keys, and then the front door opening. He moves from the pile of comic books, opening his bedroom door and moving to the stairs, walking down them quickly (and very fucking awkwardly, but he manages to do it before his old man can see and question _why_ he’s so crook-legged).

“Stiles?”

Just the sound of his voice saying Stiles’s name causes his body to ache in response and he grins, “Dad,” he says and sees John’s eyes widen, looking up from where he was setting down his keys.

“Stiles!” John shouts and reaches out just in time to catch him when he launches himself.

Stiles’s arms wrap tightly around his waist as his eyes tear up, the knot forming in his chest as he tucks his face against his dad’s neck, “Daddy,” he just barely manages out when the hold around him tightens and he slumps, feeling all weak and fragile against the older man.

“What are you doing home, kiddo?” John asks, finally pulling back and cupping his cheeks, “You don’t call, you don’t give me a warning? I could’ve prepared somethin’ nice.”

“Seriously?” Stiles shakes his head, “This is nice enough, I’m just-” _not glad to be home_ , he’s really not, “I missed you,” he says sincerely, eyes running over his dad’s worn features.

John moves back even further, getting a good look at his son and Stiles can see the cogs working in his head as he frowns, “Why _are_ you home? I don’t mind it, you know I don’t, but… what business has you back in Beacon Hills? It's nowhere near a holiday. You back here for a case?”

“Uh-more like the lack of? I guess,” Stiles says and he sees John’s frown deepen.

“Stiles, what are you talkin’ about?”

“Don’t get like that-”

“What happened?”

Stiles hears that sigh he still wasn’t quite prepared for and he figures it can’t hurt to elaborate a little, maybe then John won’t blame him for his fuck ups **too** much, “Honorable discharge,” he offers, seeing his old man’s brows jump up immediately, “I got shot pretty bad in the leg and, well, it was either a desk job or… yeah.”

“And you don’t have the patience for a desk job,” John concludes.

“Nailed it in one,” Stiles says and shrugs, “So I thought I’d come back and regroup, figure out what to do next.”

“Well, you look fine to me,” John says as he looks down towards Stiles’s legs, making him a little wary, “How bad is it? Because we have pretty low standards for long term injury back at the station. If you can still walk fine, you could become a deputy.”

Stiles blinks in surprise and grins, “Are you serious? Because that’d be awesome.”

“Just lemme take a look and-”

“No,” Stiles says when John starts to reach down, “Uh, trust me, it’s pretty gruesome, you don’t-”

“I’ve seen gruesome, Stiles,” John responds, eyes narrowing at him.

Stiles swallows tightly, “No, trust me, okay? Not like this.”

John stills, his jaw setting, and Stiles can see him trying to figure it out once more, but he sighs again and nods, “Alright, well if you don’t wanna show me… I guess I’ll just get the papers for you and you can look it over yourself.”

“Thanks, daddy,” Stiles says and pats him on the shoulder, “So, uh… couch?” he motions into the living room, because his leg is killing him, “Long day at work, you probably wanna kick back.”

“Sure,” John agrees easily, following him to it and sitting down, “So, how did the leg injury happen?”

“Still gonna press about that one?”

John chuckles, holding out his hands almost apologetically, but not quite, “You’re my son, I wanna know.”

“I… I can’t really… I can’t really _tell_ you.”

“Classified?”

“Well, that too, but I’d totally tell you anyway,” Stiles says and smiles nervously at the disappointed expression on his dad’s face, “Hey now. I owe you, don’t I? But that’s not it. I just can’t.”

John reaches out then to touch his shoulder, “I get it, you don’t have to explain any further.”

“Okay, good,” Stiles breathes out then, breath a little heavy, “Because I was about to go into like… full on panic mode.”

“Don’t think about it,” John says, voice softening, “If you can’t, you can’t.”

Stiles moves then, curling against his dad and feeling the arm wrap around him to pull him even closer, “Honestly? I loved the FBI. Working for them was amazing, and I experienced a lot of seriously awesome shit, but after the last case… I’m kinda glad I was able to come home to this.”

John’s fingers are in Stiles’s hair and it makes him feel like a five year old again, pressed up against his dad after having a bad dream. Really though, he was like that up until he moved out, and he always had this. That was something he deeply missed when he moved out. When the nightmares from his cases haunted him, and he never woke up like this, with the strong support of his old man. There’s nothing quite like it.

“I missed you,” Stiles mutters, trying to fight back the tears he can feel stinging in his eyes.

“I missed you, too, son,” John says as he smooths his hand over Stiles’s back, “But you’re home now, you’re safe. And you can stay here, you can take your time, there’s no rush to get started with anything just yet.”

* * *

Some time in the middle of the night, Stiles wakes up in his typical fashion, screaming hysterically with Susan’s name on his lips, ripping out of his throat. He flails violently and almost falls off the side of the bed when his bedroom door swings open and his dad’s arms are quickly wrapped around him. They’re like a strong vice, pulling him back to bed, and Stiles continues screaming for a few seconds before he hears John’s voice.

“I’m here, Stiles,” he says against Stiles’s ear, and he can feel the warm gust of breath against his skin, causing chill bumps to rise up, “I’m here, okay, you’re safe.”

Stiles turns onto his stomach, keeping his left leg away from John and out of sight. It’s the only thing he can pull his mind to do, other than grabbing onto his old man like a lifeline and pressing his forehead to John’s cheek. His heart is still racing, and he goes from holding onto his dad to caressing him, his fingers brushing through the soft hairs on John’s chest for a moment.

“... You’re not wearing a shirt,” he says after a long time, his lips against John’s jaw.

“Old habit died hard finally,” John mumbles and chuckles, “It just got annoying, comes with old age.”

Stiles chuckles as well, his leg hooking between John’s as he glances up at him, “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“Don’t be.”

“I am,” Stiles’s voice is still shaky, and he can feel the warm softness of John’s crotch against his knee, his heart now racing for a slightly different reason, “It’s been a long time since I woke up like this.”

John hums lowly, his hand on the back of Stiles’s neck, combing through the wet hairs, his other hand moving to Stiles’s wrist, “Me too. Who’s Susan?”

Stiles sighs, feeling the hairs of John’s beard tickling his lips, “A five year old girl,” he says and watches John, “My last-”

“Your last case,” John interrupts him and turns then to meet his eyes, “She died?”

Stiles swallows and nods, “Right in front of me, yeah,” he says, and since he’s just woken up from it, now’s probably the best time to talk about it, while it’s still fresh and haunting, “Shot, too, and I just had to sit there and… and just watch her die.”

John reaches up to cup Stiles’s cheek and the touch causes him to tense, but to lean into it, “I know how that feels, son,” he responds, voice low and rough, “And I know you don’t wanna talk about it, but you need to. Otherwise, she’ll haunt you.”

Stiles nods again, a few times, trying to reassure himself, and he drops his head back down, “Maybe,” he says, watching John’s right nipple harden from his breath. As tormented as he is right now from the nightmare he just had, he can’t help where his mind strays off to.

He had this problem before, this fascination with his old man, it’s nothing new to him; but fuck if it isn’t getting harder to keep back now. He leans in a little, everything out of John’s view, and then he nudges the nub with the dip of his upper lip, feeling his cheeks heat when he hears John let out a soft sigh.

He doesn’t dare do any more, his right arm wrapping around his dad’s waist, “Don’t go back,” he says, closing his eyes.

“Stiles-”

“Please?” Stiles cuts him off, looking up to him and the next words come out _far more suggestive_ than he intends, “Stay in my bed, sleep with me.”

Stiles can see the black filling John’s eyes and it causes a sliver of hope to stir in him, but he pushes it back.

“Stiles-”

“Just say ‘yes’,” Stiles cuts him off again and swallows, “Just say ‘yes’, and hold me, and that’s… that’s it, okay? Don’t go, daddy, don’t leave me.”

John’s expression softens and he reaches down, pushing at Stiles’s knee a little before nodding, “Alright. I’ll stay.”

* * *

It’s like that **every** night afterwards, every night John comes to him to calm him down when he starts screaming. Every night he’s pressed against the solid form of his dad, and wakes up to it in the morning. He knows that John is only doing it to comfort him, but Stiles always finds himself wanting more.

Time after time, he fantasizes of his dad holding him and kissing him; those strong arms holding him in place while his dad fucks him, running his hands down Stiles’s body, between his cheeks, fingers rubbing at his asshole-

“You gonna eat that or not? Because you're already skin and bones as it is,” John says, interrupting Stiles’s train of thought.

“Hm?” Stiles looks to his old man’s eyes and blushes, “Uh, yeah, sorry - I was uh... thinking. What did you say before?”

“I said you can just sleep with me from now on,” John suggests again, “Maybe you’ll sleep better if we just go to sleep together.”

Stiles frowns, because while this sounds like a good idea to John it’s- "That sounds good on paper, but it’s really not,” he says, pressing his lips together.

“Why?”John asks and then lifts his brows when Stiles glances down quickly, “Is this about your leg?”

Stiles looks away and starts to deflect when John interrupts him.

“I already know.”

“What?” Stiles looks at him quickly then, eyes widening, “Know? Know what?”

“About your leg,” John says then, smiling sadly, “That two thirds of it is missing, I know.”

Stiles feels his stomach twist sickly and he has to grip the table to steady himself, “You-you… how?”

“I wake up before you most of the time, son, I’ve seen it a good **few** times.”

“You…” Stiles feels the tears prick his eyes, “You’ve seen it? But-you never said anything about it.”

“And I didn’t need to,” John responds and shrugs, “I already suspected, when you first told me about it. Normally you would’ve been psyched to show me something like a bullet wound.”

Stiles narrows his brows, his dad isn’t wrong, “Well… okay. So you know…”

“So I know.”

Stiles presses his lips together and nods finally, “Okay, so-so we uh… we-you want me to sleep with you… uh! In-in your bed?”

John chuckles, finishing his own food now before Stiles has even really touched his, “Only if you think it’ll help.”

It’ll help, probably, but it **really** won’t help some other things, Stiles is sure of that. He nods though, because the idea of actually preparing for bed with his dad and climbing in with him sounds like… a very satisfying thing to do.

“Okay,” Stiles says, smiling slightly at his old man, “I’ll sleep in your bed, we’ll give it a try.”

* * *

Stiles glances at his dad in the bathroom, watching him brushing his teeth for a moment before he turns and tugs off his shirt, his heart racing as his hands drop to his belt. He starts nervously unbuckling it and glancing back before unbuttoning his pants, shoving them down and carefully stepping out of them.

“That doesn’t look half bad.”

Stiles nearly jumps at his dad’s comment and he turns, watching John’s gaze go up from his fake leg to - he **swears** the gaze stops on his junk for like a solid minute before slowly moving up.

“I’ll have to see when you take it off, but so far it looks fine.”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles sits down, reaching out to take off his prosthesis and set it to the side, “It’s still pretty sensitive.”

“It probably always will be,” John says, joining him and Stiles looks up just in time to lock eyes with the crotch of his old man’s boxers before he squats to look at the scarring.

Stiles shifts a little closer to the edge of the bed, meeting John’s eyes as he feels the hand on his skin, “So they keep telling me.”

John finally moves to pull the covers from the mattress, helping Stiles onto his side and then laying down on his back as Stiles curls in close, “Night, son.”

“Night, daddy,” Stiles says as John turns out the light and they lay there in silence, Stiles’s fingers brushing through the soft chest hairs, then up to his beard. Before he even realizes what’s happening, he’s out.

He doesn’t even wake up again until the next afternoon. When he does, he looks at the time and it’s-

“Three!” he shouts and starts to sit up, then flops back down when he realizes where he is. He just slept a whole night in his dad’s bed, curled up with John, and now he’s laying there in nothing but his tight boxers.

Stiles reaches down and pushes off his underwear, just to be able to feel what it’s like to be in _this_ bed... naked. It feels pretty good, if he’s being honest - and he lays there, his morning wood pressed against the sheets, hips shifting until there’s pre-come filling his foreskin before he finally decides to start looking for some kind of lube. He could easily go without it, but he’s curious.

He doesn’t have to search far, finally finding it just behind a box of tissues and the alarm clock, taking it and observing the bottle that’s almost empty. His cheeks heat when he reads the large blue writing: ‘ANAL LUBE’, on the front.

“No fucking way.”

Maybe John doesn’t use it for it’s intended use, or… maybe he _does_.

Stiles rubs his hips against the mattress and moans, turning onto his back and popping the cap of the lube before squirting some into his palm. He fists his cock, thinking of all the purposes John might find for the lube, how his dad would use it on him. Stiles hasn’t ever actually _seen_ his old man’s dick, but that hasn’t stopped him from imagining it.

The first time he fingered himself, that’s exactly what he was thinking about; the first time he took a dildo, that’s the only thing that even crossed his mind. The first time he ever even jacked off, he was thinking about his daddy; his big, old man, wearing that fucking uniform and palming Stiles with his rough, coarse hands. Stiles can’t imagine his dad’s dick very well, but **god** can he imagine his hands.

* * *

Stiles gets off on maybe… four occasions, before he gets walked in on by his dad. And fuck if it isn’t the worst, most humiliating experience yet. He’s not even just jacking off in the bed at this point - instead, he’s got his prized prostate massager shoved up his ass, rocking down on it and teasing the head of his cock while wearing his dad’s favorite jean jacket (which is the only thing he’s wearing, mind you, and the covers are completely thrown off the bed).

Literally, it’s the worst position he could be in, considering of all the things he expected to out himself in front of his dad, this was the last. He’s almost mouthed John’s nipples on more than one occasion, among other things, but it’s _this_ way that John finds out.

The worst part of all, is - after yelling: “Oh, daddy!” and then coming a loaded stream of white wetness over his stomach and chest like a goddamn porn star, finally opening his eyes to see his dad standing there in the doorway, eyes wide - even after all of that, it’s when the silence reigns in that both Stiles and (well, he’s sure his dad can hear it) John catch the sound of Stiles’s prostate massager still buzzing away.

“Just… tell me you’re not gonna kill me, or like… cuff me and take me in,” Stiles says finally, sitting at the table, staring guiltily at his dad.

“No,” John says at once, shaking his head, closing his eyes as he does it, “No, I won’t-I wouldn’t do that,” he looks to Stiles then, “I’ve-” he sets his jaw as he stares at his son, “-suspected for a while now.”

“A while now?”

Stiles can feel his stomach in his feet right now, his hands shaking, and though he’s in his mid-twenties, he feels like an eight year old caught with his hand in the cookie jar, “How long is a while?”

“Since you were fourteen… well, maybe younger-maybe a lot younger.”

The admission causes Stiles to feel almost dizzy with sick nervousness, “F-fourteen? Younger? How?”

“I’m your dad,” John says, “I know these things.”

“Not really, not just things like that, dude. _How_?” Stiles presses.

John’s cheeks heat a little and he looks away, “Before you were fourteen, when you were five or so, you had a tendency to say things. Claudia didn’t take them seriously, and I tried not to as well, but…”

“What kinda ‘things’?”

“You’d…” John sighs and meets his eyes, “You’d say you wanted to marry me, that you loved me and wanted to…”

Stiles lifts a brow, “Wanted to..?”

“Have kids for me,” John says after a long silence.

It’s embarrassing, but Stiles chuckles and shakes his head, covering his face, “Oh my god.”

He can feel John’s eyes on him when he does it, “You also kissed me a couple times - not just regular kisses. The first wasn’t very obvious, but the second was. After a while, though, you just stopped doing it, so I thought it might’ve been a phase.”

“And when I was fourteen?”

“I heard you.”

Stiles peers through his fingers curiously, “Heard me?”

“In your room,” John adds, “One night when I went down for a drink before bed, I heard you moaning my name.” He clears his throat, “Of course, for a long time I just convinced myself that it was for help, or something, in your sleep - that it wasn’t..."

“Me jacking off and thinking about you like you **just** caught me doing not thirty minutes ago?”

“... Yeah.”

“But it was,” Stiles says and can see his dad’s grimace, “I’m sorry. But that’s… okay,” he sighs and puts his hands down, “Cards on the table, I’ve got nothing to lose at this point, right? You know already.”

John meets Stiles’s eyes, nodding slightly, “I know.”

“I’m in love with you,” Stiles responds, chest tightening as he stares firmly at his old man, “I’ve been in love with you for like… so long it’s stupid. And yeah, I’ve tried not to, I’ve tried to get over it, I’ve tried to fall for someone else, or just move on. So please don’t try to tell me that I need to do any of that.”

The older man starts to open his mouth but Stiles cuts him off-

“I know it’s ‘wrong’-” Stiles says, putting up quotation marks as he stares at his dad, “By society’s standards. But so is like fifty **thousand** other things that are perfectly normal. Like left-handers, or black people, or gay people, or twins, or uncut dicks - I know other people see it as wrong, but I’m an adult.”

John starts to try to say something again but Stiles shushes him once more.

“I’m a **consenting** adult, and I’ve seen some fucked up things in my life,” he continues, crossing his arms, “But this… it really isn’t fucked up. It isn’t. It’s the most natural, the most **normal** I’ve ever felt in my whole life. So… I… there. That’s it.

“I’m in love with you, I want you - and nothing is ever gonna change it. That’s how I feel about you. I **do** wanna marry you, even if it’s impossible, I can’t help it. I want to wake up with you and kiss you and hold you. I want you to come home to me. No one else needs to know, but that’s… that’s what I want. I want you… intimately…”

When John doesn’t start to talk again, and Stiles is actually finished this time, he adds, “So that’s… now you know.”

John smiles sadly and nods, “Stiles-”

Stiles frowns, narrowing his brows, “I know, okay. I’m not stupid and delusional.”

“You don’t know what I’m about to say-”

“Yeah, actually, I do.”

“I highly doubt that.”

Stiles imitates his dad’s voice then, “Stiles, I’m from a different time than you. I was raised in different ways. But I do feel the same about you. I want you, but this can’t happen.”

John blinks, raising his brows.

“Yeah, I know how you feel about me,” Stiles says, blushing, “I saw you look at my junk the first night I slept with you. And how you looked at me earlier - that wasn’t disgust at all, like it should’ve been, it was _want_. I know you want me. Not just from that, but from _how_ you hold me, how you touch me. How you know when my lips are on you and you don’t complain. I’ve heard your sighs of relief when I do it.”

“Stiles-”

“I’m not a child, you wouldn’t be taking advantage of me.”

“Stiles-”

“Don’t, okay, let me talk-”

“Przemysław!” John says finally, standing up, narrowing his brows, “Let **me** talk, for once.”

Stiles stops and swallows, eyes widening, because his dad **never** uses his first name, never, “O-okay.”

John sighs and moves around the table to Stiles, turning his son’s chair, “You’re right. I do have feelings for you, and I **was** raised in different times, in different ways. But I know my son, I know who you are. And… while I’m still not convinced that this is the best thing to do, I’ll allow _some_ of it.”

Stiles stills and frowns, “By ‘some of it’, you mean..?”

“No sex.”

“Okay…” Stiles doesn’t like this already, but he’ll take what he can get, “So what **can** we do.”

“What we’ve been doing already,” John responds and Stiles starts to complain, “And you can kiss me, or put your mouth on my chest if you want. I’ll let you get off in bed with me, but I won’t do it for you.”

Stiles nods slowly, it’s reasonable, he has to respect his dad’s limits, the guy knows what’s best for him, “Can I at least touch you over the clothes?”

John seems to consider it for a moment, but ultimately shakes his head, “No, just above the waist, that’s all.”

Stiles already plans to coerce John into _all_ of it, but for now he can work with what he’s got, “Okay,” he agrees, “So…” he wets his lips, “I can-I can kiss you? I can kiss your mouth?”

“No,” John backs up a little when Stiles stands up, “Not my mouth.”

“Fine,” Stiles says in frustration and John chuckles, “But I can kiss your chest? Can I suck on your nipples?” he tests, “It **is** above your waist,” he can feel John starting to disagree, “You have to give me _something_ more, come on. You’re setting the bar really high. Like how do you define ‘some of it’? Because to me it just sounds like... like literally nothing. You want this, I know you do.”

John laughs as Stiles motions to himself and then he nods, “Okay, okay. You can… do that… if that’s really what you want.”

Stiles can hear his old man’s skepticism and he smiles slightly, “Yeah, it is.”

“One more thing,” John adds then, “Not once do we try to pretend this isn’t what it is, okay? It’s incest. You’re my son, and I’m your dad.”

“Yeah, you are,” Stiles agrees, running his hands down John’s chest.

* * *

He manages to keep his mouth off of his dad until that night though, waiting in bed and listening to John brush his teeth in the bathroom as usual, “So, if I can get off in bed while you're here, does that mean I can take off my boxers?”

“Mm… sure.”

Stiles nods pensively, “Can I touch your lips?”

John steps into the room once he shuts out the bathroom light, “Uh, yeah, you can do that.”

Stiles watches his dad, eyes running over him now, more appreciatively, “Fuck, you’re so hot.”

His dad laughs and shakes his head, climbing into the bed beside him and starting to turn to get the light, only to be stopped mid-reach.

“Don’t,” Stiles says, touching John’s shoulder, “Keep it on, I wanna see you.”

“Alright,” John agrees easily and turns to pull him close, “Take your time.”

Stiles stares at his dad for a moment before leaning down to kiss John’s neck, his leg shifting between the older man’s, “This okay?”

John nods as Stiles starts grinding against his hip.

He lets out a huff of breath, kissing down over the older man’s skin before shifting up to press his forehead to John’s, “I know you won’t, but I want you,” he breathes out, his hand cupping his old man’s jaw, “I want you to spread my hole open with those thick, rough fingers.”

At once, he can feel John’s hand on his thigh, gripping it, the older man’s hips shifting as he grinds down subtly on Stiles’s knee.

“Daddy,” Stiles breathes out, starts to lean in when John turns away.

“Stiles.”

Stiles moans and smiles, “I know, I wasn’t gonna,” he turns his dad to look at him again, “Come on now, lookit me,” he wets his lips, “I know the rules.”

John wraps an arm under him and pulls Stiles against him, nudging his son with his nose, “As long as you keep that in mind.”

“I will,” Stiles says softly, fingers running through the hair on his chest, “But that doesn’t stop me from wanting you. It doesn’t stop me from wanting to taste you.” He can see the shade of his old man’s cheeks and he smiles, “And I’m not just talking about your mouth.”

“Stiles.”

“Keep saying my name,” Stiles ducks his head down finally, lips brushing John’s right nipple and he teases it, breathing hotly on it, licking it, then latching on and staring up at his dad as he does it. John tenses at once, eyes widening, but as Stiles sucks and sucks, tongue lolling over it, he feels him slowly relax.

Stiles nurses on the nipple, sucking the skin around it into his mouth and moaning, feeling the hand cup the back of his neck and he arches his hips, rutting against his dad’s waist before reaching down to push his tight boxers down.

He can see John’s eyes drop, quickly followed by the bobbing of the older man’s adam’s apple and Stiles continues sucking, using his teeth a little as his tongue licks insistently at the bud.

John’s eyes close and he gasps when Stiles bites, even though the action is gentle, it’s still sharp and sudden. His fingers move into Stiles’s hair, running through it, curling tightly and pulling him closer, “Oh, Stiles.”

Stiles watches him, groaning as he fists himself, panting out of his nose. He almost startles when John’s other arm touches his wrist, not to stop him, but maybe to feel the movement of it, the tight muscles and practiced form of jerking off.

“My boy,” John breathes out, and his eyes meet Stiles’s again, “My son.”

Stiles moves up, lips pulling off the nipple with a loud popping sound, and he presses his forehead to John’s as he climbs into his lap. John starts to protest, but Stiles doesn’t technically do anything against the rules, grinding his bare ass down on his clothed cock, jerking his dick violently as he stares into the older man’s eyes, “Dad,” he whimpers, kissing along his jaw to his ear, “Daddy.”

He comes harder then than he has since-well, since the first time he came in this bed, really. Stiles finally collects himself and he looks down at the mess on John’s stomach, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” John says softly and cups Stiles’s cheeks, “I know you wanna do those things, Stiles,” he brushes his thumbs against Stiles’s skin, causing him to shiver, “And so do I. I wanna kiss you, I wanna be in you, I do.”

Stiles stares back at his dad, relieved, because it was beginning to feel a little one-sided there for a moment, “But you have your limits, I know,” he says, reaching out for the tissues to clean up the come.

“Hey, son,” John says, shifting his hips and Stiles’s eyes widen when he feels the wetness of the older man’s boxers, “I mean it.”

“I-I feel that,” Stiles responds and blushes, grinning, “Someone’s gotta change now.”

John chuckles, his hand on Stiles’s waist, “I guess so.”

Stiles nearly swallows his tongue and he glances down, “Can… can I… can I see-”

“No,” John sits up then, Stiles falling down into his lap and Stiles is about to move when his dad kisses him on the forehead, lips lingering, “That’s just something we can’t do, son.”

* * *

“We can’t do that, son.”

“I know,” Stiles groans in annoyance, setting down the groceries and turning to look at the older man, “Don’t you think I know that already? You’ve told me like… a billion times now,” he growls, reaching out for John’s tie and tugging the older man to him as he lowers his voice, “No kissing, no more grinding, no sex; no big, veiny, fat, old daddy dick. I get it.”

John’s eyes widen and he stares at his son, his hands moving to Stiles’s waist, “When you say it like that-”

“It makes you wanna stuff that big, veiny, fat, old daddy dick down my throat?” Stiles guesses, “Or test the head of it against my asshole? Because I could go for either of those.”

“You’re only talking dirty to try and get me to do it.”

“Of course I am, but dude…” Stiles takes off his dad’s tie, “You can’t look the way you look and not expect me to try.”

“What way do I look?” John presses, even though Stiles is sure he knows.

“Like a really fucking hot dude that I want to put his dick all over my body,” Stiles says simply, “Pump my ass full of come and plug it up for a while, then let him fuck me open later while it’s gushing out?”

Stiles isn’t sure if the look on John’s face then is aroused… or mortified, but it makes him smile.

“ _John_ ,” Stiles says slowly, voice a little husky, “I know you have your limitations, but can’t you just give in a little?”

He doesn’t normally call his dad by his name out loud, but it definitely does something to him; something good.

“Stiles.”

“ _John_ ,” Stiles responds in the same tone, “Just lemme have a peak, that’s all - a peak and… and a taste.”

“Stiles-”

Stiles huffs, “Just a peak and a taste, just this once. I’ve been good.”

“You’ve been testing my restraint since day one.”

“But I haven’t asked,” Stiles responds, “Please,” he reaches down, touching the buckle of his old man’s belt, “Please, just this once? Please, _Daddy_.”

Stiles can see John’s resolve crumbling and finally he nods.

“Okay, but just this once,” John says firmly, unable to deny him.

And that’s it, that’s the secret, he has to ask, and his dad will never be able to deny him.

Stiles grins and unbuckles John’s slacks, eyes dropping down as he goes to work, “A peak and a taste… that’s all,” he repeats, saying it so that John knows what he’s agreed to.

“Right here?”

“Yeah, daddy?” Stiles looks back up and John groans when he asks the question, “You really like it when I say that, huh?”

John grumbles and glances down, “Alright, right here, I guess.”

“Just don’t go falling over, old man,” Stiles teases and winks at him, avoiding John swatting a hand as he drops down onto his knees and tugs the slacks down, then John’s boxers. His eyes widen at just how **hard** his dad is, the length a breath from his mouth and he stares at it, gaze running up the shaft, “You’re… you’re cut.”

“I know.”

Stiles looks up at his dad, “... why?”

John chuckles, “Just seconds after you see it, you’re criticizing it? It wasn’t my choice, son.”

Stiles frowns and nods, “Uh, yeah, I guess not,” he leans in, pressing his lips to the slit, feeling the stick of pre-come, “Is that why you didn’t have me cut.”

“One of the reasons,” John says, and Stiles can hear the tenseness in his voice.

“Other than that it’s just fucked up in general,” Stiles muses, one hand grasping the shaft and lifting it to mouth at the underside, breathing hotly against the meaty flesh.

“Stiles,” John drops back against the counter for support, one hand grabbing the back of Stiles’s neck like he does sometimes, “Just a taste-”  


Stiles finally takes the length into his mouth, barely able to fit a couple inches in without gagging, but he works the tip impatiently. John is moaning and shaking, a complete mess, and Stiles stares up at him as he tests the length against the back of his mouth until he **really** gags. He almost pulls off, but forces himself not to, eyes watering.

“Stiles,” John says and starts to move his hips back, growing serious even though Stiles can tell he’s fighting the urge.

“Muh-” Stiles pulls off the length, grabbing John’s hips to still him, “No, seriously, it’s cool. I mean, I have a sensitive gag reflex, but seriously-” he wipes the saliva from his chin, “I don’t mind gagging on your dick.”

John groans when Stiles says that and takes off his jacket, “Are you absolutely sure, son?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Stiles responds, “I won’t puke, but you can like… skullfuck me or something,” John still looks skeptical so he adds: “I’ll let you know if it’s too much. Okay? I’ll grab your wrist. But seriously I want you to just go to town on my mouth. I’ve dreamt of this a million times.”

John still looks tentative though, “This isn’t ‘just a taste’, son.”  


“ _Please_ , _daddy_ ,” Stiles says, staring longingly up at him, “ **Please**.”

The older man finally concedes and grabs the back of Stiles’s hair. It’s so rough that Stiles moans and drops his head back, mouth opening willingly. He wasn’t expecting John to suddenly take charge, but it does so many things at once. Not just turning him on immensely, but also reassuring him that he’s not forcing an unwilling participant into this. His dad actually wants this, too.

John guides his mouth back onto his cock and Stiles gags at once, but nods slightly to reassure him. The older man’s hips roll, testing him a few times and it’s okay so far.

Stiles closes his lips around the warm shaft just as John starts fucking into him. Every thrust causes him to gag, his tears streaming down his cheeks and the taste of pre-come smearing on his tongue every once in a while. His body shakes violently every time the cock head reaches the back of his throat.

“Stiles, fuck,” John hisses, and it’s one of the few times he’s ever heard his dad cuss. It kind of surprises him, even confuses him, but then John’s pulling back, resting the head of his cock against Stiles’s lips as come starts spurting out into his mouth.

Stiles moans and waits until his old man starts squeezing out the last drops, then he closes his mouth around it and nurses on the tip, whining and closing his eyes as he suckles the cock.

“Son…” John says in awe, his own mouth dropping open and Stiles feels his hand grip tighter.

He sucks a few more drops out and pulls back to stand up (with the help of his dad, of course), “Regret it?” he asks as he pulls up John’s pants.

The older man stares at him, shaking his head numbly, “I don’t regret things I do with you, son,” he responds, then motions to the food, “We should get this goin’ before it gets dark.”

* * *

“You and your dad are pretty close these days,” Scott observes, watching Stiles wolf down the burger, “Like I knew you two were close before, but dude. You spend all your time with him now.”

“Especially now that I work with him,” Stiles muses aloud, “I like it, apart from you he’s always been like my best friend.”

“Not many people refer to their dads as that.”

Not many people also refer to their dad as their boyfriend in their head sometimes, or wake up in their bed every morning.

“Yeah, but who cares?” Stiles says, licking the mayonnaise from his fingers, “Me and John just have a different relationship than others. There’s nothing wrong with that.” It takes him a moment to realize that Scott has grown silent and he looks at his best friend, “What’s up, buddy?”

“You called your dad by his name.”

“I did?” Stiles blinks and- _whoops_ , he did, “Uh, yeah, I guess sometimes I just refer to him by his name. We’re adults, and it’s not out of disrespect. He likes when I call him John.” _A lot_ , like last night when he was practically shouting it while bucking against a pillow set between them, his dad’s torturous mouth wrapped around his nipples. Yeah, they started swapping a little, and if John’s mouth was anything on a dick like it was on a nipple, well…

“Stiles?”

Stiles looks at Scott then, reaching up to check for drool, “Yeah? So it’s just a name. It’s not a big deal.”

“Is this because you’re in love with him?”

Stiles gasps as he stares at his best friend and nearly drops his burger, “What?”

Scott looks annoyed now, instead of concerned, “You know, you told me about it all in grade school, dude.”

“I did?”

“Yeah,” Scott says and snorts, rolling his eyes, “When we had confession night.”

“Oh,” Stiles responds thoughtfully, “ _Oh_ , yeah, confession night,” he nods as he remembers, “Holy shit, I totally told you I wanted my dad to put it in me when I was thirteen years old, wow.”

“So is that what this is about?”

Stiles swallows and narrows his brows, he wants to tell Scott, but he needs to know something else first, “Scotty, buddy, can I ask you a serious question?”

“Like I just asked you?”

“Seriously, before I answer that.”

Scott nods then, “Sure, you can ask me anything, dude.”

“What do you think of incest?”

Scott blinks, like he’s **totally** surprised he didn’t see this one coming, and he’s thoughtful for a moment before responding, “Well, I guess I don’t really have a problem with it. As long as it doesn’t involve like… _pedophilia_ or anything like that. I mean, I used to make out with my cousin Shawn all the time. We didn’t even really think anything of it. If both are consenting, it’s just the same as like… anything else, right?”

“So what if like… **hypothetically** , I told you I was involved with my dad?” Stiles tests, narrowing his eyes.

“Involved? Sexually?” Scott frowns, “I didn’t know your dad was gay.”

Stiles stares at Scott quietly, not really blinking as he lets it set in. He can see it the moment it does, his best friend’s eyes widening to stupid saucers.

“Holy shit, you and your dad are fucking?”

Stiles looks around quickly and relaxes when no one else seems to have responded to it, “Don’t tell the goddamn neighborhood, dude, but… _kinda_? We haven’t had sex, but like dick suckin’ and stuff has happened.”

Scott looks at him in stunned fascination, “Holy shit, dude,” he says, “Holy shit. So he, he… he feels the same way?”

“Surprisingly? Yeah,” Stiles smiles slowly.

“I thought you seemed happier than normal.”

“Really?”

Scott nods, “Well, yeah, normally you complain when I talk about my relationships. But lately you’re okay with it.”

“Oh, I guess I do get like that…” Stiles muses, narrowing his brows, “I don’t like being sour, but seeing other people happy pisses me off when I’m not.”

“And you are,” Scott says and grins, “That’s cool, dude, I’m happy for you two. Your dad deserves something nice, you both do.”

"We do don't we?" Stiles asks, smiling as well, "I love him, Scott, really I do. I think I've loved him like this all my life. It's never felt like this with anyone else. I think about him all the time, I wanna just do stupid things to see him smile."

Scott's grin widens, becoming more dopey, "That's how I felt with Allison."

“That’s how I feel, dude, it’s insane,” Stiles drops his head against the table and sighs almost miserably, but a happy misery, “Sometimes I see him and I just wanna flop onto the floor and roll away.”

Scott bursts into laughter as he watches Stiles, nodding knowingly, “Yup, that’s basically it.”

“God, how do you deal with it? Sometimes it’s just fucking **agonizing**.”

“Listen to love songs?” Scott guesses, “Buy things? I dunno, dude. But you should definitely let him know, that’s what my mom said. Never just assume, say it often, say it differently, stuff like that.”

“That sounds kinda gay.”

Scott stares flatly at Stiles and then lifts his brows, “News flash, love is pretty gay.”

“I guess,” Stiles says and chuckles, “But, uh, so… now you know. Just be easy with him about it, okay? He’s not new to it, but he’s seriously like… he put limits on it as is. If he knows I was telling you about all these, well - honestly, he might not actually be surprised.”

“Probably not,” Scott responds, finishing his burger, “So are you two doing like… couple things?”

“Uh, what, like going out?” Stiles asks and then answers when Scott nods, “We can’t really do that, can we? Like, This is Beacon Hills, literally everyone in this town know both of us, and that I’m his spazzy son. It wouldn’t slide for a second.”

Scott nods slowly in understanding, “Then why not go somewhere where people don’t?”

* * *

Stiles lays silently against his dad that night, unable to stop thinking about his conversation with Scott earlier in the day. He’s been up for almost an hour now, and finally he forces himself to try and talk to his old man, “John?” he says, voice soft, and then raises it when his dad doesn’t respond, “John, are you awake?”

John doesn’t respond and Stiles sighs, shaking him a little, “Daddy? Come on,” he says, narrowing his brows, “I can’t sleep, I wanna talk to you.”

“I’m up,” the older man finally mutters sleepily, squeezing his eyes shut, “I’m up, Stiles, what is it?”

“Do you wanna go out on a date with me?” Stiles asks, peering up at him and shifting to meet his eyes when they finally open.

John squints up at him in the dark, “What?”

“On a date, you know?” Stiles says and smiles tentatively, “Like food, romance, flowers…”

“Stiles,” John says seriously, “Everyone in this town knows us.”

“So let’s get away for the weekend or something,” Stiles says lowly, moving to press kisses down John’s jaw, “Drive out of the city, go somewhere no one knows us. Then we can just… we can just be ourselves, we can just look like any couple.”

John hums lowly as Stiles moves down, licking gently over his dad’s right nipple, where the flesh is red and marred from earlier.

“Sure,” John says easily enough, rolling then and flopping Stiles onto his back, climbing over him, “Did you want it to become a regular thing?”

“Once a month would be nice,” Stiles mumbles as his legs fall open and he gasps when he feels his dad’s mouth on his chest, the scrape of stubble making him whine. His hands shakily move to John’s shoulders, his cock filling as he arches off the bed, “Oh, daddy.”

John hums around his nipple, he’s always more gentle than Stiles is, which totally isn’t a bad thing, but sometimes Stiles just wants him to-“You should mark me.”

His old man looks up at him and Stiles blushes, “Bite, babe, leave a mark.”

John pulls off his nipple, the skin popping out when he’s pulled up to level their gazes, “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I’m pretty durable,” Stiles muses, looking away as he smiles to himself, “I’m not asking you to break skin, although that’d be fine too, but I want you to leave a mark,” he meets John’s eyes again, “I’m yours, so just… you know, use me - mark me.”

He can see John’s cheeks heating in the darkness, and the older man moves to kiss his shoulder before nodding, “Okay, but lemme know if it’s too much. I really don’t wanna hurt you.”

Stiles brushes his numb, shaking fingers through John’s hair, “You won’t, daddy.”

John moves back down, taking his other nipple up instead, and Stiles feels the teeth at once.

“Oh!” he trembles violently, naked cock pressing against his dad’s belly as his mouth drops open and his fingers pull at John’s hair, “Oh, dad-daddy.”

The bite is sharp, and he can feel John sucking the skin between them hard enough to leave a stupidly nice mark. Stiles whimpers, tears falling down his cheeks from the pain. John told him to let him know if he hurt him, and he has, but god it feels so good.

To reassure him, just in case John’s getting concerned, Stiles mutters ‘yes, like that’, just as he looks down to meet the older man’s eyes.

John’s strong, rough hands are holding his back up off the bed, but then they move down and do something they haven’t done before.

Stiles’s eyes widen when they grip his ass, grabbing on tight and spreading his cheeks, thumbs kneading the flesh, “Oh my god, I’m seriously gonna come,” Stiles mouths, heart pounding in his ears as John guides his hips up. He’s literally reduced to humping against his old man’s stomach, watching John suck on his tit until he comes.

It hits hard, causing his entire body to buck and he lets out an insanely loud shout of ‘daddy!’ as he holds John tightly to his chest.

By the time he actually is able to register what’s happening, John’s up and changing. Stiles grins lazily and watches him start towards the bathroom with a change of boxers.

“Hey,” he says, turning onto his stomach as he cuddles a pillow, “Why don’t you just come back to bed?”

John stills and looks at Stiles, “Just lemme get dressed.”

“Why?” Stiles asks rhetorically, “I mean, I’ve seen it, I’ve had it in my mouth…”

“Once.”

“Once,” Stiles agrees, “And I’d kill for more, but we’re mature adults, dude. Just come back to bed and sleep naked with me. Nothing more, okay? I promise I won’t misbehave.”

John looks hesitant, as usual.

“Don’t you ever get tired of putting restraints on things?”

His old man’s shoulders slump and he chuckles, “Okay, okay,” he agrees and comes back to the bed, leaving the boxers on the dresser and joining Stiles.

“You’re so adamant about having all the unhealthy food you can, but you won’t do _these_ kinds of things with me,” Stiles says as he curls up against John, resting his head on the older man’s chest in his usual spot, “You touched my ass.”

John’s silence makes him smile and then the older man says, as if in a weak regret: “I did.”

“I liked it,” Stiles responds, voice low and soft as he reaches down to brush over the mark, “Seriously, butt-touching is nice. I really liked it,” he stares up at his dad, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, son.”

“No,” Stiles says then and sits upright, just enough to look at him properly, “I really love you. Like, I’m in love with you. Like, girly crush, head over heels, can’t not think about you, in **love** with you. I go to work and all I think about is having you to come home to.”

He reaches up to touch John’s cheek, searching his eyes.

“You already know that it’s more than family and unconditional blood stuff, but it’s still-it’s even more than that. No one else is it for me, dad. Like… this is it, this is everything to me.”

John reaches up and covers Stiles’s hand, pulling it back to kiss his fingers, “That’s how I feel, too, son.”

Stiles smiles, leaning up to kiss his dad’s jawline, since he can’t kiss his lips, “I know we can’t do things that other couples do, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have nice things and do stuff together. We can’t get married, but maybe we don’t have to.”

“How do you mean?”

“Maybe we could just…” Stiles wets his lips, “You know, like… just wear rings.”

John stares at him, brows lifting up at the suggestion.

“Not a big deal, but people would know I was someone’s, and vice versa. And if people ask, just tell them it’s none of their business,” Stiles says, his voice getting lower as he talks, “Okay, maybe it’s a stupid idea.”

“It’s not,” John says and smiles, combing Stiles’s hair out of his eyes, “You’re right, we can’t do much - but there are some things we can do. I wanna do that.”

“Really?” Stiles asks, leaning into his dad’s touch, “It doesn’t have to be anything flashy, neither of us are jewelry guys. Just… like matching bands.”

* * *

“Stiles?”

“Kitchen,” Stiles says as he looks up from the stove, about to turn to greet his dad when arms wrap around his waist and a body presses against his back, “Oh,” he gasps and then there’s a wet mouth at the back of his neck and one hand moves up to cup his breast, the other dropping down to rub his cock through his pajamas… which is something John **never** does.

“Daddy?” he turns and is met with John’s lips, he gasps again, but the older man is kissing him fervently to shush him.

Stiles can’t even bring himself to push John away to ask what’s going on, he just kisses back desperately, arching from the stove as John palms his cock and then pulls back to tug his pajamas down.

“Daddy!” Stiles actually shrieks, breaking the kiss when John grips him and Stiles goes limp against his old man, his legs shaking in excitement.

“Stiles,” John mutters, lips still against his as their eyes meet.

“What is-” Stiles stops when John turns him around, pressing him against the counter, his pajamas pooling around his ankles, “What’s going o-” Stiles’s mouth drops open when he sees John’s fingers in the jar of coconut oil and he groans, “Oh, fuck, I’m so ready for this.”

He hears his dad chuckle from behind him, and then there are warm, slick fingers running over his hole, “I thought you would be,” John says lowly against his ear, then takes the lobe into his mouth sucking it and pushing a finger into him.

Stiles arches his hips back, raising his ass and flexing the muscle around the thick finger, “Oh my shit, those fingers,” he moans miserably and just lays his head down on the counter because he literally can’t.

John works him open slow and careful, the fingers spreading him open, twisting and curling and it feels like it takes _hours_ for it. Stiles shifts when the oven goes off and that’s **literally** twenty minutes John’s taken already, “Oh, get that, it’ll burn.”

John grunts and just turns off the oven, pumping his fingers into Stiles even quicker.

“Fuck, daddy,” Stiles drawls, arching and lifting himself back up a little as John rubs insistently at his prostate, “I’m ready, just-oh!” he nearly jumps when John grabs his hips, changing the position of them and prodding the gland.

Stiles isn’t surprised when he comes, his feet tingling and his body dropping limp against John, but he has little time to recover before he can feel the come slick fingers of John’s right hand pressing into him as well, “Oh, dude,” he didn’t expect his old man to actually be that dirty, but it’s effective (in more than one way).

“John,” Stiles whimpers as he turns to look at his dad, leaning back tentatively to kiss him and moaning when John kisses him back.

The blunt tip of his dad’s cock presses against his backside and Stiles is more than ready for it, arching willingly, and reaching back to grip John’s thigh. It’s an agonizingly slow glide into him, his dad taking his time and fucking into him nice and easy. Stiles would complain, but the action stirs up so many things, causing him to whine and beg, that he can’t even bring himself to make some snarky comment.

He’s reduced to tears, mewling sounds - it’s embarrassing, but John just keeps going, all slow and patient, and Stiles tries to buck back but there are strong, firm hands holding him against the counter.

“Daddy,” Stiles whines, “Daddy, please, I-I need-”

“Shh,” John says and reaches up to brush his fingers through his hair, “I know what you need, boy, now calm down.”

“Calm down?” Stiles huffs, shaking his head, but he doesn’t comment again.

It continues at that same, slow pace, John’s hand eventually moving up to tease his bruised nipple from the other night, running his forefinger along the teeth marks.

“Oh,” Stiles jerks and tries to shift back on the free side but John drops his hand back down to hold him still.

“Be patient, I’ll get you there.”

“You’re driving me crazy.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Stiles moans, thinking about the first night John put his mouth on him, Stiles thought he spent hours on John’s nipples before then… but his dad **actually** spent hours on him, sucking, teasing, making him come without touching him. The man has some patience, it makes him a stupidly good lover.

He blinks through the tears of frustration, his legs shaking violently, his whole body tense and John finally reaches down to his cock, barely even ghosting his fingers over the tip and Stiles comes again.

A stupidly good lover.

Stiles’s mind is so numb after that that it takes him a moment to realize John is out of him, fingering him with more come, spreading him open, “Please tell me this isn’t just a one time occurrence like the blow job, like you’ll not put limits because… _because_ ,” he can barely string together two words, he’s even pretty sure he’s drooling.

John’s sliding back into him again, slow at first, and then he reaches around Stiles’s legs, gripping the insides of his thighs, and just starts fucking into him almost violently.

“Oh! Daddy!” Stiles’s eyes widen, his hands reaching out for support anywhere he can get it, his hips digging against the counter as his dad fucks him.

Before, that? That was making love, that was slow and leisured, and patience. This is fucking, _breeding_ , made even more so when John flattens his chest onto the counter and lays his upper half on Stiles, thrusts coming in short and fast, stealing his breath away.

Stiles lets out this long, drawn out ‘oh’ that lasts almost a solid minute, his neck craning to get at John’s lips and the kiss is rough and toothy, all awkward, but so good. His fingers curl in John’s short hair, holding him close as he trembles.

The man has good stamina, that’s for sure, Stiles has come like two times already and he’s working on a third, and John’s still going on his first. He’s sure that the counter has actually cut through skin now, and each thrust causes a pained sob to escape his mouth, but he wants it; _all of it_. He wants the cuts to last, to leave marks so that any time he looks at them he knows they were made the first time John was inside of him.

“D-daddy!” Stiles shouts, coming a third time, and his walls clench around John. He can only assume that that was it, that it draws it out of his old man, too.

John gasps against Stiles’s ear, shuddering atop him and finally stilling as he holds Stiles close. Stiles feels the older man’s lips against his hair, the hands pulling him back from the counter, and he almost drops right to the ground but John holds him firmly.

Stiles was numb before, but he’s out of it at this point. He feels a warm wetness at his hips and his cock, then moving around to-“No,” Stiles reaches down to stop John, “No, don’t clean it out,” he looks at the washcloth, “I-I wanna keep it in.”

John blinks up at him and straightens up, “If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” Stiles confirms, tilting his chin to kiss him, “That was… seriously amazing,” he says as he wraps his arms around John, “Like… wow.”

John chuckles, kissing him again and again, “I’m sorry I hurt your hips.”

“Don’t be,” Stiles grins, “I’m a big fan of rough sex. Hopefully it’ll last.”

“What is it with you and wanting to mark your body up?”

“Well, to be fair, I don’t have a tattoo.”

“I’m surprised you don’t.”

Stiles huffs and swats John’s chest, “So, I’ll be back, and… you can make the plates?” he says, reaching down to get his pajamas but John beats him to it before he even starts to lean down, “Thanks, not sure I would’ve been able to get back up.”

John kisses him again before Stiles leaves the room.

* * *

“Really though,” Stiles says as they’re washing up dishes, “We’re gonna do that again, right? That wasn’t a one-time thing.”

“It wasn’t a one-time thing,” John confirms, “No, I’ve… changed my mind about the terms.”

Stiles smirks to himself, wiping down the plate and putting it up in the cupboard, “So I noticed. For the most part, you’ve been the one to break your own rules.”

“I know,” John responds and turns Stiles to look him in the eyes, “I just didn’t wanna waste the time we have left not holding you and having you like I want.”

Stiles frowns and swallows tightly, “Uh oh, serious talk.”

“I **am** being serious, Stiles,” John says, tone becoming more firm, “What you said the other day got me thinkin’, and I’ve… spent a lot of my life lately being cut off. But if we’re gonna do this, if you wanna go out of town on dates, and wear rings… I wanna have all of it, not just some of it.”

“So... sex?”

“No limits,” John reiterates, touching Stiles’s shoulders, “We’ve been doing this for months now, and we both know it’s not somethin’ that’ll change.”

Stiles nods in agreement and turns back to finish the dishes.

“No, I’ll get them,” John offers, “You just prepare for bed.”

“Okay, old man,” Stiles says and shrugs, stealing another kiss and dropping a hand to smack John’s ass before leaving the room.

He’s in their bedroom for almost ten minutes before he finally gets impatient and goes back downstairs, “Hey, what’s taking so long-dad?” he moves to where John’s leaning against the sink, the broken plate on the ground at his side and the smell of vomit hits his nose the moment he’s within range, “Daddy? Dad! What happened?” he turns the older man to look at him, “Hey, baby, are you okay?”

“I just got light-headed, I’m fine…”

Stiles looks him over for a moment, “Uh, no you’re not, let’s take you to the ER.”

“Stiles-”

“You might be having a heart attack!” Stiles shouts, frantic, almost panicking as he stares at John, “I can’t lose you, okay? I can’t.”

John sighs in annoyance, but nods and starts for the door.

Stiles shuts off the lights and locks up behind him, helping the older man into the cruiser’s passenger’s side seat, even as John complains.

* * *

Stiles sits silently in the waiting room, his whole body shaking as he clutches his phone in his hands. He’s already had about five panic attacks at this point, and it’s been a few hours since they came in. It’s like he’s going insane, not knowing how things are going with the surgery, but finally he looks up and sees Scott, Allison, and Derek headed his way and he stands up, “Thank fucking god!”

He says it louder than he intends, but Scott smiles sadly and hugs him, and it’s everything he can do not to break down there.

“How is he?”

“Oh, gee, I dunno, he had a heart attack,” Stiles says, shaking, “Okay, sorry, I don’t mean to be sarcastic.”

“It’s okay, buddy.”

Stiles looks at the wide-eyed expression on Derek’s face and he frowns, “What?”

Derek glances at Scott and then shakes his head subtly, “Nothing, I guess.”

“Your scent,” Scott says, “You reek.”

Stiles blushes furiously, “Oh my god, I didn’t even think about it.”

“What?” Allison asks in confusion, looking between them all, “What does he smell like?”

“It’s nothing,” Stiles says.

“It’s personal,” Scott adds and then Allison nods, and doesn’t press.

“So, heart attack?” Scott asks as he watches his friend, “Are you okay?”

Stiles shakes his head a few times before he actually says it out loud, “No, no I’m not,” his voice is wavering, tears are blurring his vision, “Scott, I can’t lose him. I can’t-you know… I just… if I lose him I…”

“I know,” Scott responds and then he’s hugging Stiles again.

Stiles actually **does** start crying then, his body trembling as he hugs Scott.

The werewolf helps him to sit back down and Derek joins him on his other side, looking between Stiles and Scott.

“How long has this been going on?” the older man asks Stiles, clearly not as patient as Allison is to not push.

Stiles glances at her and she puts her hands up.

“I’ll go get us some coffees,” she offers and leaves them.

“Like… five months?” Stiles says finally, once she’s out of earshot, and Derek’s eyes widen, “Yeah, I know, it’s a thing. But it’s really none of your business, so don’t start lecturing me.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Derek responds, “As long as your consent has been given, I don’t have a problem with it.”

Stiles blinks in surprise, “You don’t?”

Derek shrugs, “I don’t,” he confirms, and then reaches out to touch Stiles’s shoulder in support, “Your father will be fine. Things in the surgery are going well, and he’s doing okay.” He looks at Scott then, and back to Stiles, “Scott and I were talking on the drive here.”

Stiles already knows what that means, but he has to ask to be sure, “About..? About what?”

“We think it’s time you considered the options for your father.”

“But he’s a lot older, he could die.”

Scott speaks up then, “No, we know that’s a possibility, but Deaton **does** have the test.”

“You really think my dad will be okay with that?” Stiles asks rhetorically, “You’re talking about turning my **dad** into a werewolf. My **dad** , of all people.”

“Stiles,” Scott says softly, “What if you didn’t get him here? What would’ve happened?”

Stiles frowns and he doesn’t even want to think about it - he can’t, “... okay… I-I’ll talk to him. But I’m like a hundred percent sure that he’ll just say ‘no’.”

“It’s worth consideration,” Derek responds, watching Stiles, “You said it yourself, you can’t lose him. At least like this he’ll have better chances.”

“It’ll stop any of this from happening?” Stiles asks, looking at Derek, “For **absolute** sure?”

Derek nods.

“Okay,” Stiles lets out a huff of breath, “I’ll-I’ll consider it, I’ll consider talking to him about it. But not so soon after this. I don’t wanna stress him out any more.”

* * *

“Hey there, handsome,” Stiles says the moment John’s eyes focus on him and he stands up, moving to the older man and kissing his forehead. It’s literally everything to keep himself under control, “How do you feel?”

“Bad?” John guesses, frowning, “Are the others here?”

“And by ‘others’ you mean ‘werewolves’?” Stiles asks and nods knowingly, “Yeah, they’re here, they also know.”

John’s face pales.

“Calm down, okay,” Stiles says, reaching out for him when the heart monitor picks up, “Scott knew a while ago, and Derek could smell it on me when he came here.”

“Werewolves,” John huffs.

Stiles chuckles, eyes tearing up, “Yeah, what can you do?” he smiles, lips shaking.

“Stiles,” John takes his hand, shaking his head, “Don’t do that, son.”

“I’m sorry, I just…” Stiles ducks his head, “I was right, you had a heart attack. I-I almost lost you, I-”

“I know,” John reaches up to touch his chest, “I guess I strained myself a little too much today. No more of that for me.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, “Sex totally wasn’t the problem and you know that.”

“Not the long term problem, no, but-”

“But there are alternatives to that, we can just go about it differently,” Stiles says, cheeks heating, “It doesn’t always have to be like… _like it was_.”

“There are alternatives,” John agrees.

Stiles nods and smiles, wiping his eyes, “Exactly. We’ve already been doing healthy, home-cooked meals. Maybe we can do other things too, like get you on a treadmill, start exer-”

“I’m not talking about those kinds of alternatives.”

Stiles frowns in confusion, “Then what kind do you mean?”

“How hysterical you were when you saw me in the kitchen,” John shakes his head, “I can’t put you through that again, Stiles. I don’t wanna see your face like that again, not if I can help it.”

It’s like everything in Stiles’s body just locks up and a cold chill sets in, “Dad, please… no-okay, we’ll-we’ll find another way, I promise.”

“I don’t think there **is** another way, son.”

“No, I-I can’t, okay? I can’t just-this isn’t-” Stiles starts shaking, his head, his body, everything, tears dripping down his cheeks, “This hasn’t even really started and you just wanna cut it off now? I-how… I can’t-”

“Stiles,” John says firmly, a little loudly.

Stiles presses his lips together, still shaking his head as he stares at his dad, “No, no. I refuse.”

“I wasn’t suggesting to end this.”

Stiles stops rambling when the words register with him and he tilts his head slightly, “Uh, okay, then what?”

John sighs and reaches out for Stiles again, “Son, come here and sit down, will you? I hate it when you pace.”

He hadn’t even realized he’d been doing it, but sure enough he looks down and… he didn’t even know he got out of his seat. Stiles moves over to the hospital bed and takes a seat on the edge of it, grabbing his dad’s hand once more and staring at him, “Sorry, I-I’m trying not to stress you out.”

“You’re not doing a good job.”

“Sorry.”

“I wanna consider-” John turns his hand, brushing his fingers along Stiles’s palm, “-less traditional methods.”

Stiles lifts a brow skeptically, “... like… spiritual healing?” because that **totally** sounds like his dad, not.

John shakes his head.

“Like.. the bite?”

John nods.

Stiles’s eyes widen, “Y-you’d actually consider getting the bite?”

“To stop from ever having to see you like that again? Yes.”

“No,” Stiles says and stands back up, “But you’d **seriously** consider the bite? Are-are you sure? Are you **really** sure you’re thinking this through?”

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life, except for you.”

Stiles blushes at that and takes John’s hand in both of his, “Okay, I-we can talk to Deaton about getting a test done to see if it’ll be safe. But if not, then we **are** gonna have to do something else, get you exercising.”

* * *

Stiles finishes taking off his fake leg, setting it aside and turning over to pull back the covers, “Just… sit on it a couple days, okay?” he asks as he pulls one of the pillows down from the top of the bed, “I want you to be sure before we do this, because there’s no going back once you do.”

“If it’s positive,” John responds, voice louder, and Stiles knows he’s in the bedroom, “Mmmm.”

“Hmm?” Stiles starts to turn when he feels a hand slide between his legs from behind, rubbing the soft fabric over his taint, “Oh…”

“Finally, I can do this.”

Stiles moans and rocks back a little, “You could’ve always done this, I never would’ve stopped you.”

John’s hand retreats and he feels the bed dip, moving out of the way and turning to help his old man lay down, “No, but I would’ve.”

“You shouldn’t,” Stiles says as he kisses along John’s chest, his hand moving to rub the older man’s cock through his boxers, “You should never hold yourself back from doing something you want.”

“Careful, I can’t-”

“Yeah, you can,” Stiles responds, smiling, “Just lemme do it, I’ll be slow, I promise.”

John chuckles, “I’m not sure you can actually **do** slow.”

Stiles huffs and rolls his eyes, “Shows what you know,” he says and shifts atop John, stopping long enough to push off his tight boxers before climbing into the older man’s lap.

John stares up at him, reaching out to run his hands over Stiles’s chest, thumbs brushing his nipples, “If you get too fast, we’re gonna stop.”

“I won’t get too fast,” Stiles mutters as he unbuttons the front of John’s boxers and tugs out his cock, already a little hard from anticipation, “You just lay back and enjoy, I’ll take care of you.”

"Alright, alright," John concedes, smiling weakly, "I'll let you do all the work."

Stiles grabs the lube, warming a bit of it in his palm, then taking a firm grip on his dad's limp cock as he reaches back with his other hand.

John's eyes nearly bug out as he watches Stiles, his hands resting on Stiles's hips, brushing over the cuts from the counter, "These are pretty bad, son. Did you clean 'em?"

"A bit," Stiles mutters, wincing as he pulls the plug out and then sets it on the nightstand.

"Jesus Stiles, you had that in this whole time?" John asks, cock hardening at once.

"Yup, it was almost getting painful," Stiles says as he shifts, climbing higher and resting his left thigh on the pillow he positioned earlier, "But I didn't wanna take it out."

John's eyes follow the positioning of his cock between Stiles's legs, "Why keep it in?"

"To keep _you_ in," Stiles says raising his brows, "Keep your seed in me."

John groans as Stiles lowers onto him, the length sliding in effortlessly, "Oh, well when you say it like that..."

Stiles chuckles and keeps himself seated for a moment as he leans in and kisses the older man, running his hands through John’s hair. 

“I can’t help it, I just-I like the proof,” Stiles mutters, holding himself up as he slowly starts to move, “The bite, the cuts, the come - it’s all I can do to have you with me when we’re not like this.”

John stares up at him, reaches up to cup his cheeks and that’s when Stiles realizes that they’re wet from his tears, “I’m so sorry I put you through this, son.”

Stiles sobs and turns into the touch, kissing John’s palm and closing his eyes, “Don’t be, okay? Just stay with me.”

“I’m with you, I’m not goin’ anywhere, Stiles.”

They continue moving like that together, Stiles willing himself to take it slow for his dad’s sake, even as he cries through… pretty much the entire thing; John constantly trying to calm him down, but there’s not much he can do to console Stiles. Once he gets his mind on something it’s difficult to get back out.

When John finally comes, it’s long before Stiles, and he lays there and holds his dad through the afterglow, kissing his forehead, the corners of his eyes and mouth.

He pulls off, laying beside John and tucking his head against the older man’s chest, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, son,” John says, kissing the top of his head, “Come up here now so you can get off.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, he tried talking his dad out of the need to get him off any time John got off, and it never worked so he knows not to argue it. He knows what’s coming, god does he, “Don’t suck too hard, you’ll strain yourself, old man.”

John chuckles, “Well, you don’t seem to mind the teeth.”

“Hell no I don’t,” Stiles agrees and climbs up, resting his elbow above his dad’s head and at once John takes his left breast up in his mouth, “Oh, fuck.”

Stiles shudders as he feels those teeth gnashing and cutting in, sucking gently despite that and he feels the warm, wet flat of his dad’s tongue circling it before running over his nipple. John’s other hand moves to cup his right pec, pinching it and rolling it around under his thumb.

“Oh, **oh** -daddy,” Stiles whimpers, reaching down to jerk himself and staring down at the older man as he gnaws mercilessly on his tit. John is ruthless, just like last time, instead of being gentle like he’s been in the past. Honestly, though, Stiles **really** likes it.

Even so, he still left thrashing and sobbing in pain when he feels the teeth **really** start leaving a mark, “Oh-ow! Ow!” he sobs, tears streaming down his cheeks from a different reason and John almost recedes, “No, no, don’t stop. Seriously, don’t stop, just…” he turns, pulling his nipple from John’s mouth with a loud, rude sucking sound that makes his cock jump.

He turns to angle the right against john’s mouth and his old man doesn’t miss a beat, latching onto his breast needily, and growling lowly, “Oh, god…” Stiles whimpers. These teeth aren’t nearly as forgiving as they were before, cutting in at once and Stiles sobs loudly, taking his hand from his cock. He’s so close that he won’t even need it.

“Harder, daddy, ha-ah!” Stiles gasps when John’s jaw clamps down all but munching on the flesh in his mouth and Stiles comes so hard he sees stars. He pulls back, looking down at the marks and seeing the blood spots on them, “Ow…” he says and chuckles, then moans and slumps down against John.

“You asked for it, kiddo.”

“Yes I did.”

* * *

Stiles wakes up some time in the middle of the night, screaming bloody murder, only to be eased back down onto the bed by the strong arms of his dad. He hasn’t had a nightmare really since he started sleeping in John’s room, but this one is different. After the heart attack, of course he’d have a nightmare about attending his dad’s funeral.

But when he wakes up the second time, it’s late in the afternoon, and John is laying there with him, watching him, combing his fingers through Stiles’s hair, “Mornin’ son.”

“Hey,” Stiles mumbles, grinning lazily and leaning up to kiss him, “So that was a crazy nightmare last night.”

“I know,” John says softly, “Nearly scared me half to death.”

“I guess we should see Deaton about that blood test, then,” Stiles says and kisses along John’s chest, “Can’t have me scaring you **all the way** to death, you’ve already been close enough to it. Closer than I’m comfortable with.”

John rolls Stiles onto his back, turning on his side to get a good look at the damage he inflicted last night and Stiles can see the wince, the look of regret.

“Hey,” Stiles lifts his chin and kisses him, not even looking at it himself, “Don’t do that, I wanted it. Now get up and get dressed so we can get some breakfast, I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving.”

Stiles swats John’s ass when he turns to get up and he lays there for a moment, stretching, catching John eying his junk as his limp cock flops against his hip and he waggles his hips at his dad, “This isn’t breakfast, advert your eyes.”

John huffs and shakes his head, turning to get his clothes on.

“It could be…” Stiles says then and John turns to look at him, eyes a little wide, “I mean, maybe after your bite, or something, I didn’t wanna stress you out. I know you haven’t went down on me yet, but there’s seriously no rush, we only just started with the sexy stuff so… stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want the D.”

“The what?”

Stiles’s smile falls a little, “The D?” he repeats, then points to his dick, “The _D_.”

John laughs and then motions for Stiles to get out of bed, “Come on, you’re the one rushing me out first, if I start now, we’ll never get out of the house.”

“You’re not wrong,” Stiles agrees and climbs out of bed, moving to the large body-sized mirror and stretching as he stares at himself, “Holy fucking vacuum teeth, batman,” he says as he stares at his chest, reaching down from his stretched position to touch the fresh wounds, “These are gonna scab.”

“I told you.”

Stiles moves his hands down to the marks still on his hips and he smiles, “Maybe they’ll scar, too.” He blushes when John comes up behind him, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him back, “So, breakfast, Deaton’s, maybe a bite, and then we can go out for lunch?”

“Sounds good to me,” John says against his ear, kissing him and staring at them in the mirror.

“Here’s to hoping it’s a positive day.”

“It’s started pretty good so far.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one-shot, you know what that means. Please don't ask fer more of this universe. But if you want to make requests of other shorts, you can ask me anytime on my Tumblr @Magestiles.
> 
> -Cammerel


End file.
